Weathered staff, muddy boots, broken time-piece, rugged coat, fiddle, pencil stub, yellowed pages, old photograph, parched wine-skin, coffee beans & dry flowers...scribblings of a wandering gypsy.
Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Ok, this is one of my recent works. I'm extremely apprehensive about the response because my style of writing is becoming more unconventional and abstruse with every passing day. Keeping my fingers crossed and hoping you guys like it :)

There are some dawns,of silver mirrors and rusty reflections,when you wake up to a tune coming from a distance; a flute’sunadorned raga.

When time stands still,in the womb of darkness, nascentsmiles are born, few survive whileothers are aborted, bartered for a few morsels of hope.

There are few rustic noonsplanted in a courtyard, wherea hungry geranium trails the corrugated asbestos, asbeads of sweat drizzle from a leaden sky.

Little children bodies, chase the wind behind a rickety cart,amidst whistlesand few barefooted prayersclimb the steps to godliness.

There are some evenings,when sparrows and urchinscome home,hand in hand.A dusk where alms are split,and a peasant eavesdropson yesterday’s conversation.

And then...

And thenYou arrive,like a whisperedwish of an anklet,a touch of wet clay,Lost charm in a bangle.A firefly in wild play.

7 comments:

Loved every bit of the rustic charm of this composition....an old world ,other world charm yet laid back and suddenly a whispered ,sensitive end. Enjoyed the images the lines evoked as if it were my personal nostalgia ."when sparrows and urchinscome home,hand in hand."Lovely!!

About Coffee Beans and Dry Flowers...

Coffee Beans and dry flowers,A spent candle and ashes in the fireplace; Coffee lying stale in a chipped mug,And a table cloth that was once white,Edged with frayed lace.A window pane that is cracked,Climbers lying uncared for on the sill,A raging storm beyond it,But here my world stands still.

A bulb in the corner, at times flickering,And a radio sometimes crackles...But registers nothing.

But somewhere amidst all of this, I wait...While penningmy thoughts on yellowed pages,Random scribblings of a wandering gypsy perhaps,Waiting for my vagrant soul to find a home,Waiting for my hand to be held and grasped.

Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry.

About Me

Have you ever stopped to stare at roadside flowers? Run around on dewy grass on early spring mornings? Enjoyed the musty smell of frayed pages of old books? Smiled back at strangers? Ever felt like walking back home in the rain? Stopped whatever you were doing to listen to your favourite song on the radio? Ever strained your ears to hear silence? Become teary eyed during mushy scenes in movies? Ever called up long lost friends for no apparent reason? Wanted to believe in something that cannot be explained? Ever loved? Been loved? ever lain spread eagled on the terrace, counting the wishes amidst the phosphorescent sea of a million stars overhead, wondering whether yours was somewhere among those waves too?
See, I told you…you know me…